


His Second Chance

by sb_essebi



Series: Whouffaldi one-shots [7]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: 2014 Xmas Last Christmas, F/M, POV: Twelve, Pining, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-01 08:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12701340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sb_essebi/pseuds/sb_essebi
Summary: Twelve's thoughts during LC.





	His Second Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, guys! Wrote this while re-watching Last Christmas. It's actually some of the Doctor's thoughts during the episode, so MASSIVE SPOILERS.  
> Disclaimer: There's also a lot of dialogue from the episode, which I don't own: Steven Moffat wrote the episode.

"I'm really here. This is real, yeah?" Clara asks as he confidently flies the TARDIS. He needs to focus. They're in danger, their lives are in danger and he can't think about her. "Doctor? talk to me." Not now. Not about this, the fact he has missed her so much and  _gods_  she's here now and he suddenly has this really confusing urge to hold her and never let go. "I never thought I was gonna see you again." Focus. "What's going on out there? What's happening?" The TARDIS is landing, finally. "Oh, that noise. I never knew how much I loved it."

He grabs her arms firmly and looks her in the eyes:

"There's something you have to ask yourself that's important, your life may depend on it. Everybody's life. Do you really believe in Santa Claus?"

~oOo~

"You never told me he was dead.  _You said_  he made it back." He's confused. Dismayed, actually. Why would she hide that from him?

"I lied," Clara answers matter-of-factly. "I lied so you'd go home to Gallifrey instead of fussing about me." He feels like his brain and hearts and everything stop working for a moment.  _'Oh, Clara.'_

" _She's not alright, you know. And neither are you."_

Now he knows what Santa meant.

They are  _so_  alike. Two huge, impossible idiots. "I never found Gallifrey.  _I_  lied, so you'd stay with Danny."

He sees realization strike her just as hard as it did him. Surprise, at first, then pain and sadness and guilt. She walks away and he waits, wondering if they will discuss this now. Because this means something. He lied to her because he loved her, because he wanted her happy, because  _he thought she would be happy_. And she did the same. It has to mean something. He  _wants_  it to mean something.

"So we're dying then?"

No, they're not discussing this now. Because yes, they're dying, and yes, they have to focus on that and she knows it. Because she thinks like him.

~oOo~

He's at Clara's door, nervously waiting for her to open it, his teeth tormenting one of his fingertips out of anxiety. He'd like to say he's worried about them dying, but actually he's more concerned about what Clara's dream will look like. A dream that's supposed to be calm, relaxing, distracting… he wants to be in it, be the safety she craves for, but he knows, knows he isn't solution. He's problems, he's complicated and he won't be in her dream. He's afraid Danny will, and it's going to hurt and he's not ready for it. Ready to die for Clara, whether this is reality or dream, but not ready for rejection. Story of his life.

~oOo~

He thinks she's safe now, he thinks they're okay. Unless it's a dream again. They're back at the base and they're still dreaming. He was wrong. He hates that. But he figures it out and it's for sure now that he's right. He saved the day, here, in the dream. Now he's going to set things straight in the real world too. Take his Clara back.

They hold hands and it's nice, he's missed that, the warm skin, the gentle pressure. It feels good, when it comes to her. He belongs to her, he's not programmed to like it from anyone else. Not even in a dream, like now.

~oOo~

It's a dream again. He hates this, he definitely hates it, this dream thing. He'll never dream again, he swears to himself. Everything he thinks of is not working and yes, he's afraid. In fact, he's getting desperate. Despair makes him do stupid things. Things like… believing in Santa Claus, for one.

That's how they end up on a sleigh, the wind blowing persistently and cold with snow, Clara is sitting behind him and he's listening to the sound of her voice. He can hear it so well. Just how he remembers it. His dreams are so accurate. He likes that. He's going straight to her now. He's not denying himself one single second more without her.

Then, she's hugging him. Tight, pulling his back against her chest. He stiffens, at first, trying to think of something that isn't her warmth or her heartbeat or her breath or her soft hair caressing his cheek, but then he realizes: this is a dream after all. A shared dream, yes, so it is really Clara there with him, but a dream nonetheless. It's dark and she's behind him and she won't even see the look on his face. He fakes annoyance anyway, but he leans into her touch and smiles. That feels good. His cheek is pressed against hers, her arms pull him closer and he responds, pressing back, melting into her. He should allow himself this more often.

~oOo~

The others are gone and Clara's standing near him. So close, looking at him so intensely, her eyes doing that thing that makes them look so much bigger. He still doesn't know how she does that. He'll ask her when they wake up.

"It's a pity we have to wake up, really. It's not really something we do every day, is it?"

' _Oh, Clara, you really think I won't come for you the moment I wake? Do you really think I'll forget this, do you really think you aren't my first thought every very single time I open my eyes?'_  "If we stay, we die, Clara."He feels an irrational, overwhelming need to kiss her now. God knows why. It all feels so blurred. Dreamy, actually.

Then, he's awake. He's confident of that. 100% sure.

~oOo~

"I've missed you very much, you stupid old man."

"I've missed you…too…" he doesn't know what to say as the weight of it all crashes over him. He has been given one chance – and one chance only – and he's wasted it. He's late.  _62 years late_. He keeps calm but he wants to cry. To scream. Something.

Why didn't he look at the temporal coordinates when he flew the TARDIS here? What was he thinking?

He feels in a sort of dream-state, everything is blurred, he's in the living room and he doesn't know how he got there…but this time it's real, he's awake, he has ruined the only chance he really wanted to have in life and it's unbearable.

"Do you really see no difference in me?" Clara asks.

"Clara Oswald, you will never look any different to me."

He tells her. That he sees her for what she is, not for what she looks like.  _He sees her_. Her true self. He remembers the legend of Gallifrey that narrates, that  _this_  is what who's gifted – cursed – with regeneration means with the saying "true love". Something that has nothing to do with looks or personality, not with clothing or age or quirks. It's just about who you really are, no matter the else. Like he was the Doctor and she was Clara Oswald.

It's all over now. He might as well tell her flat out that he loves her, just the human way. But what's the use? She's what, 90, now? Which means that this, this is their last Christmas. Because he will leave and never come back. Because,  _no_ , he can't see her die. Not again. He was  _never_  the strong one. He acts like it but no, he's not strong. He needs to know, though, before he leaves:

"So, how was it, then?"

"How was what?"

"The 62 years that I missed," he answers bitterly in a breath, pretending to look at the photos for clues, because right now he can't even look at her. And besides, his eyes are bright and he doesn't want her to notice it… for a number of reasons.

"Oh. How was my life you mean."

"Is there a Mr Clara?" He has to ask. How many others could she give her heart to, when his hearts were chained and enslaved to her?

"No, but there were plenty of proposals."

"They all turned you down?"

" _I_  turned them down!" She makes a pause. "I travelled. I taught in every country in Europe! I learned to fly a plane."

Oh, he feels it, he's going to cry now. He sits down, trying to stead his breath. "Regrets?"  _'Regret lying to me, for example? Did you ever just wish you had me back? Because I've been wishing_  you  _back, every minute since I stepped in the TARDIS and left you here.'_

"Oh, hundreds. I just wish there was time for a few more."

"Yeah, they're always the best part." Sarcasm maybe will help holding back the tears. "Christmas cracker, we should do one. No one ever matched up to Danny, eh?" he wonders, staring at the floor. He wishes too hard that he and Clara were something. He thought they were, earlier, for some moments, but he just can't be sure. She's always, still, so confusing, so unclear about what she feels for him. And he's like that too, he really doesn't have the bravery to ask. He's too afraid of rejection.

"There was one other man." He looks up at her, uncertain about how to feel. "But that would never have worked out."

"Why not?" he manages to ask.

"He was impossible." Could be him, could be anyone. Humans are often impossible. He can't tell. He wants it to be him, though.

They open a cracker and he remembers they've done it like this before.  _Last Christmas_. How stupid is that? Same words for two different things. Pudding brains and their idiotic languages. "We should do this every Christmas," he murmurs.

"Because every Christmas, is the last Christmas."

"I'm sorry. I was stupid. I should have come back earlier. I wish that I had."

"Do you, Doctor? How much do you wish that?"

~oOo~

"The TARDIS is outside." No more lies.

"So?" No more arguments.

"All of Time and all of Space are sitting out there. A big blue box. Please. Don't even argue."

No more barriers.

Clara gives a small laugh and smiles.

' _Is that a yes?'_  He offers his hand.

She takes the hand he's offering. She pulls him close and kisses him on the cheek, just beneath his ear. His skin burns, but it's a nice burn. He smiles like the love-sick teenager she makes him feel like.

"Merry Christmas, Doctor."

His smile grows wider. "Merry Christmas, Clara Oswald."

Clara laughs at the vibrant happiness and excitement in his voice, grabs his hand and pulls him straight out of the door.

"Well, look at you, all happy! That's rare."

"You know what rarer? Second chances. I've never got second chances, so what happened this time? Don't even know who to thank."

He doesn't know who to thank, no, but he stops to thank a few gods, for his second chance is with Clara.


End file.
